He smirked, but I could see pride in his eyes. He pressed a kiss to my mouth before pulling away. I yearned for more, wanted to throw caution to the wind and forgo any conversation. I reachedout to grab the waistband of his pants. He pushed my hands away.
“As much as I’m aching for you, and I am, it will have to wait. You need to hear everything I have to say before you decide you want to touch me like this.”
I stared up at him, a little speechless and maybe the tiniest bit hurt that he still thought I wouldn’t want him. I didn’t tell him that, though. That would make me too clingy. “Okay, fine, but I’m returning the favor later.”
15
Sophie
Maverick guided me into the kitchen, his grip firm but unhurried. At the sink, he rolled up his sleeves, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he turned on the water. He washed his hands methodically, moving with the kind of quiet control that made something low in my stomach tighten.
I stepped beside him, mimicking his movements, but as I reached for the soap, his hand brushed against mine—warm, solid, deliberate. Not a mistake. A pause, a flicker of something humming between us. The scent of crisp soap and something undeniablyhimcurled in the air. He didn’t pull away immediately, didn’t rush the moment. Instead, his fingers slid just slightly along mine before he continued, rinsing his hands as if nothing had happened at all.
“What are you making for dinner? It smells delicious.”
“My grandmother’s famous spaghetti Bolognese,” he told me proudly, his eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “I haven’t made it in a few years, but it’s like riding a bike.”
The visual of Maverick riding a bike almost made me laugh, but instead I focused on what he was telling me.Using his grandmother’s recipe?My heart melted. Adorable. I sidled up next to him as he stirred a pot of red pasta sauce, the kitchen filling with the comforting aroma of simmering tomatoes, garlic, and herbs. The divine smell made me groan.
“You’re a man after my heart, Mav.” His gaze softened, the earlier coldness melting away as the corner of his mouth tugged up—just slightly, as though he was trying not to let it show. A breath of amusement escaped him, quiet but warm, and for the first time tonight, the tension between us had cracked, just a little.“Shit. Sorry. I know this is a first date and all—”
“Stop apologizing.” He leaned in to kiss the top of my head, and the intimate gesture had me feeling all out of sorts.
I blushed and cleared my throat, nodding toward the pot. “Show me.”
His eyebrows raised. “You want to learn?”
I nodded shyly. “It’s a little piece of you, and I want to see more.”
Maverick’s cheeks tinged pink, and the sight of it—the knowledge thatIcould do that to him—made my heart soar. “Come here, then.” I wedged myself in front of him, my back to his front as we stood in front of the cutting board. I couldn’t help but notice the veins in his tattooed forearm—something spider-webby, sprawling, thin lines that disappeared up his sleeves—or the way his strong hands expertly handled all the ingredients he set down.
At first, I watched intently as he chopped an onion with precision, his movements fluid and confident, the feel of his solid chest pressing against my back as I tried to focus onanything but the lingering desire. He was making it damn hard, with his husky voice explaining the importance of finely dicing the vegetables to release their flavors.
I had plenty of experience with cooking, but my recipes were muscle memory. This was all new to me.
“See, it’s important to wait for the sauce to simmer,thenyou put the vegetables in, so they soften but don’t get mushy. The process takes longer, but it turns out more flavorful and satisfying in texture.”
Every word out of his mouth had my knees weakening a little more. I loved listening to him talk, loved seeing this tender side of him.
I picked up the knife as he put garlic in front of us. “How do you want it cut?”
He pressed in closer to me, holding my hips in his strong hands as he whispered, “Minced.” I smiled to myself and got to chopping, enjoying the feel of him touching me. His lips kissed my neck softly, a sigh falling from my own as I focused on the task before me. After a few tortuous minutes, I finished mincing the garlic.
“Good girl, Sophie.” Maverick’s voice was smooth as butter, and fuck, I melted. His hands trailed across my stomach, pulling me back into him. Task now forgotten, I turned my face and found his lips. I kissed him hard, invading his mouth with my tongue. Entirely prepared to forget dinner altogether, I moaned loudly.
But then my stomach growled. Embarrassed, I broke our kiss and turned back to the cutting board to grab the celery he’d set out. “Sorry. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten much today.”
Maverick half turned me. “When was the last meal you ate?”
I shrugged, then paused to think about it. I’d had a few snacks, but… “Last night, before my stakeout.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Last night?”
“I’ve been busy.” I went about my chopping as I half lied to him. I mean, I had been busy, but if I was honest, there were other reasons, too.
“Bullshit. You were back in the precinct today.”
I whirled on him, the knife in my hand catching the overhead lights. He glanced at the blade and smirked, giving me déja vu as I recalled our moment at his club. That little smirk, though? He liked the idea of me wielding a weapon against him. It was probably amusing to him. “You put your bodyguards on me again?”
